On the edge of the thin ice that had formed over the top of the water
hole was a bucket. It was used to draw the supply of drinking water, and
to its handle was attached a long rope. Jack, half beside himself with
fright at the sight of Sandy’s plunge and his own narrow escape, stood
as if in a trance as he watched Tom swoop down on the pail.
He had hardly done this when Sandy’s face, blue with cold, appeared
above the water at the edge of the hole.
“Ouch! Ow-w-w-w-w! Fellows, canna ye get me oot of this before I freeze
to death?”
“All right, Sandy old man. Hold on! We’ll get you out!” cried Tom
encouragingly.
“It’s cuc-cuc-cold!” stuttered the Scotch youth, his teeth clicking like
a running fish reel as he clung desperately to the solid ice at the edge
of the hole.
Tom’s answer was a reassuring shout, and, aided by Jack, who had quickly
recovered from his temporary paralysis, he came swiftly toward Sandy
with the rope from the bucket in his hands. As he skated toward the
unfortunate Caledonian youth his hands nimbly made a loop in the rope.
He flung this over Sandy’s head and then, with a mighty heave and yank,
the two Dacre boys succeeded in rescuing their chum from his unfortunate
position.
“Now you get back to the boat as fast as you can,” ordered Tom, half
angry and half amused at Sandy’s plight.
“It was Jer-Jer-Jack’s fault!” chattered the unfortunate one.
“Why didn’t you look where you were going?” demanded Jack. “You gave us
the scare of our lives!”
Sandy appeared to be about to make an indignant reply, but Tom checked
him.
“You two fellows fight this out another time,” he ordered sharply.
“Sandy, get into the cabin right away. There’s some hot tea on the
stove. While you’re getting into dry things I’ll fix something up for
you. Get a move on now.”
Sandy, without a backward glance, took his way up the gangway, followed
by the others. Both Mr. Chisholm Dacre, uncle of Tom and Jack, and his
partner in the enterprise that had brought the party north, were away
back over the snowy mountains on a trip to a distant post for
provisions. The boys were not sorry for this, under the circumstances.
And now let us leave them for a time while Sandy is being half scalded
to death with hot tea and vigorously rubbed with rough, scratchy towels,
and explain in some detail, to those who do not already know them, who
the Bungalow Boys are, and what they are doing in the frozen north in
the dead of winter not long before Christmas time.
We first met the lads in the “Bungalow Boys,” a volume devoted to their
doings and adventures, grave and gay, in the Sawmill Valley in Maine,
where, by a series of strange events, they fell “heirs” to a cozy
bungalow, which fact resulted in their being known as the Bungalow Boys.
It was a name bestowed upon them after they had routed a band of
counterfeiters who made their haunt in the valley and caused all sorts
of trouble for the boys, whom the gang viewed as interlopers.
Adventures came thick and fast to the boys and their companion, a
certain wise and lovable, though eccentric, professor. The latter, by
accident, stumbled on the counterfeiters’ den, an odd, cavern-like place
cunningly concealed on a cliff summit above a small lake opposite to the
bungalow. The boys, too, had many thrilling experiences, the memory of
one of which lingers particularly. Our readers will have no trouble in
recalling Tom’s adventure in the flooded cave following his battle with
the enraged moose, and his subsequent adventures with the Trulliber
gang. In this volume, also, Mr. Chisholm Dacre, the Bungalow Boys’
uncle, appeared after a mysterious absence, the cause of which was fully
explained in the unraveling of events.
We next encountered our fun and adventure-loving heroes down in
equatorial seas. In the “Bungalow Boys Marooned in the Tropics” their
experiences in search of sunken treasure were set forth in full. In an
exciting narrative, warm with the color and life of the tropics, the
tale of their adventures and perils below, as well as above, the ocean
was told. How Tom saved Mr. Dacre’s life from a huge devilfish far under
the surface of the sea was but one of the experiences that occurred on
that expedition. Jack and Sandy, too, came in for stirring times, not
the least of which was the incident of the haunted cabin on the desert
island and their “laying of the ghost.”
The “Bungalow Boys in the Great North West” dealt with very different
scenes. In this book we made the acquaintance of Mr. Colton
Chillingworth, the sturdy, sterling-hearted ranchman and friend of Mr.
Dacre. How the boys incurred the enmity of a band of Chinese smugglers
and how they acquitted themselves in several trying situations may all
be read there, together with much information about that wonderful
section of our country.
The great bodies of fresh water lying on our northern boundary line
provided the setting for yet another volume which was called “The
Bungalow Boys on the Great Lakes.” In a Lake Huron “hummer” the boys
began a series of remarkable experiences. Setting out for a pleasure
cruise, they found that they were once more called upon to face
difficulties and dangers. Doubtless the hardened muscles and
self-reliance developed in them by their other adventures helped them to
meet these with fortitude and success. The secret of Castle Rock Island
was one well worth finding out, as those who have read the book in
question know.
Then came a succeeding volume, “The Bungalow Boys on the Yukon.” The
“Golden River” of Alaska, that vast territory “North of Fifty-three,”
was traveled by the lads and their elders in the stout little craft, the
_Yukon Rover_, which we have already encountered in “winter quarters” in
the present volume. Sandy, as usual, got into many scrapes, and Tom and
Jack met with an extraordinary experience at the hands of two demented
gold miners, who imagined that they had discovered a new El Dorado. From
these two victims of the mad lust for gold they finally made their
escape with the aid of a good-hearted, though comical, negro.
Their object in navigating the Yukon was to establish winter quarters
for an unique industry, namely, the trapping and breeding of the rare
and expensive silver fox and black fox. The animals were to be taken
alive in specially designed box-traps, and when enough had been captured
they were to be shipped to Mr. Chillingworth’s ranch in the state of
Washington and set at liberty to breed in a climate believed to be
excellently suited to them.
Perhaps some of our young readers may think this a very queer form of
enterprise. To these it must be explained that the project in which Mr.
Dacre, the Bungalow Boys’ uncle, and Colton Chillingworth, the rancher,
were partners was by no means a chimerical one. Good silver fox pelts
bring in the open market from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred
dollars each, and black fox pelts even more than that. If it was
possible, therefore, to raise them in numbers, there would be almost
literally a “gold mine” in the business. At any rate, both the partners
thought well enough of the idea to sink considerable capital in
perfecting their plans.
An important part of their scheme was to preserve its secrecy, for
rivals might prove troublesome. With this object a steamer had been
chartered and the _Yukon Rover_, in sections, transported to the
northland. She was put together at St. Michaels, near the mouth of the
Yukon River, and loaded with “duffle,” traps and material for
constructing a well-equipped “trapping-line,” had climbed the swift,
shallow river to its junction with the Porcupine.
In the “Bungalow Boys Along the Yukon” we saw them in the earlier stages
of the enterprise, which was now in active operation. The trapping
season had opened, and already in several specially constructed cages
close by the _Yukon Rover_ were some choice specimens of silver and
black foxes. But many more would be needed before the spring came, and
the adventurers with their valuable living cargo could “go out,” as
returning to civilization is called in Alaska. The enterprise had
succeeded so far in a manner very gratifying to both the partners. As
for the boys, they were enjoying themselves to the full. But it was not
all play. They had been brought along to “make themselves useful,” as
well as to have fun. Already they had become hardy snow travelers and
experienced trappers, and so, when this story of their doings opens, we
find them well content with their situation and delighted at the
successful way in which the trapping had so far gone forward.
But already there were signs that what Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth
had feared, namely, the enmity of the professional trappers of the
country had been aroused. As small clouds precede a mighty storm, so
slight signs may indicate coming trouble. Mr. Chillingworth had himself
been a trapper when younger and he knew the wild, half-savage traits of
most of this class of men well.
Jealous of intrusion on what they deem their rights to the wild lands,
distrustful as wild animals and vengeful, and experienced in the ways of
the silent places, they make enemies not to be despised. This fact the
boys were closer than they thought to discovering, and that before many
hours had elapsed.